


What Dreams Are Made Of

by ficforthought



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom Jack Kline (implied), Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, M/M, Nightmares, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficforthought/pseuds/ficforthought
Summary: Jack has been having nightmares since his return from Apocalypse World. After a particularly bad one Dean comforts him, changing the dynamic of their relationship in doing so.
Relationships: Jack Kline/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	What Dreams Are Made Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeachCoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachCoke/gifts).



> The fic is for Peachy who wanted some fluffy, non explicit Winkline. Hope it's to your liking! <3 
> 
> This one has been really difficult to find a balance of the soft we both wanted, keeping in character as much as possible and adding enough smut to give it promise but not be graphic. Let me know if it worked!

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, following the scent of coffee with his eyes half closed. He’s exhausted, they all are, Jack most of all. It’s been weeks since he got back from Apocalypse World and almost every night he’s been having terrible nightmares, which is hardly surprising with the amount of death and destruction he saw over there. Both Winchesters have too much first hand knowledge of what it’s like to repeatedly relive the most awful things you’ve ever experienced or imagined and being powerless to stop it. It’s killing each of them that Jack’s going through it now, too.  
  
He almost inhales his first mug of coffee then takes the second with him as he goes in search of Sam, knowing he’ll most likely find him in the library. When he approaches the doorway and hears the unmistakable sound of Jack sniffling and apologising in a raw voice, it makes something twist in his chest and he freezes. He’s not ordinarily one to eavesdrop but where Jack’s concerned he feels a _need_ to know what’s being said.  
  
“Do you want to tell me about them?” Sam asks, softly.  
  
“No,” comes the reply almost immediately, “it’s nothing, I didn’t mean to get upset. They’re just dreams, I know that, they can’t hurt me because they’re not real,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself more than Sam.  
  
“But they _feel_ real, even after you wake up.” Sam replies in that soothing, patient voice he so often uses with the kid, “They’re hard to shake off, I get it, I do, but with time they _will_ get better, Jack. You know you can come to me any time and I’ll do whatever I can to help, right?”  
  
“I know, Sam, thank you.” another sniff, “What…” he hesitates and it’s clear he’s trying to decide whether to finish vocalising the thought, “what helped you when yours were really bad?”  
  
Sam doesn’t answer straight away and Dean can picture the creases in his brother’s forehead as he thinks, and the sincere look that’ll be on his face when he eventually speaks, “Talking helped, obviously, sometimes going out for a run to clear my head. I guess it was easier when I was younger because then Dean always helped me.”  
  
“ _Dean_?” the Nephilim asks sceptically, and the hunter can’t help but feel a little affronted at his tone, “What did he do?” the boy continues.  
  
“Probably more than he’ll ever know,” Sam replies in a soft voice, “he used to hold me, assure me that everything would be OK. He made me feel so _safe_ , like nothing could hurt me as long as I was in his arms.”  
  
The silence seems to stretch and Dean wonders if one of them is leaving the room, until Jack speaks again, “I don’t think he’d ever do that for _me_ ,” he sighs, the disappointment quiet but obvious, “I’m still not sure he likes me all that much.”  
  
Dean sighs, his stomach feeling suddenly heavy... his feelings for Jack are complicated to say the least. He knows he was a dick to the kid in the beginning, in his mind he had valid reasons for that, and besides, the kid gets that now, he sees Dean’s point of view even if it still hurts him. Jack has more than proven he’s nothing like his father, that he’s on their side and is now a real part of their dysfunctional family, so the fact that Dean _does_ like the kid isn’t up for debate.  
  
The added complication is that as much as he’s tried not to he’s been looking at Jack in a whole different way, lately, the kind of way that has him wondering what the kid would look like laid out naked on his beloved memory foam mattress, how responsive he’d be if Dean could kiss and lick him all over, and what kinds of noises Jack would make writhing on his cock. He quickly snaps himself out of that line of thought, knowing Jack doesn’t see him that way. He puts fake cheeriness into his good morning greeting when he enters the room and he doesn’t miss the way Jack turns away to quickly wipe his face, again, before he also offers a too cheery to be genuine response.

§

It takes a while for the noises to filter through into Dean’s sleepy consciousness but when they do it’s instinct that has him getting out of bed and rushing to Jack’s room. As soon as he opens the door the anguished cries and whimpers get even louder as the kid thrashes around in his sleep. Distressed, the hunter moves quickly over to the bed, softly calling Jack’s name and reaching out to shake him by the shoulder to try and rouse him. Close up, in the weak light from the lamp he can see sweat matting Jack’s hair to his forehead, his t-shirt clings to his chest and there are deep creases in his forehead. Based on his own experiences as well as witnessing Sam’s nightmares, he immediately knows that this one’s been going on some time. He shakes Jack a little harder, saying his name a little louder, but not too loud as to wake him with a start. Dean jumps back, startled himself when the Nephilim's eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright with a loud gasp.  
  
“Jack? You with me, buddy?” he says, softly, not sure if the kid’s aware of his surroundings or not. When there’s no response he reaches out to firmly grip the kid’s other shoulder, too, and squeezes, hoping the pressure will make its way through to Jack’s fear frozen brain, “You’re OK, Jack, you’re at home, you’re safe.” The Nephilim is drawing in deep breaths, gulping down oxygen so quickly it’ll make him dizzy if he keeps going, but then he blinks a few times, slowly coming back to wakefulness. “Hey,” the older man tries again and this time it seems to register.  
  
“Dean?” he croaks, the confusion clear in his voice, “What’s going on?”  
  
“You were crying out,” he replies as he crouches down next to the bed, “figured it was another nightmare so I came to wake you up.”  
  
A look of alarm crosses Jack’s face, “I didn’t know you could hear me,” he looks down at his shaking hands then buries them in the sheet, “I didn’t mean to disturb anyone, I’m really sorry.” His voice is genuine and full of anguish, and Dean knows without doubt that Jack means it, he’s _apologising_ for his nightmares. Fuck.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says, sliding a hand to the back of Jack’s neck, fingers slipping on sweaty skin, “it’s not your fault, there’s nothing to apologise for,” he looks intently at the kid to try and convey the truth of his words, “I’ve been there, I know what it’s like.”  
  
Jack nods but doesn’t look convinced. He draws his knees up under his chin and wraps his arms around them, “It felt just like I was back there.” he says, his voice raw and full of pain. He swallows hard, swiping a hand over the cheek furthest away from Dean and the man’s chest aches for him  
  
“But you’re not,” Dean says, squeezing Jack’s neck, “you’re home with us.”  
  
Jack nods again, wiping at his face with more force as a sob makes its way from his throat. He’s trembling, now, obviously losing the battle he’s fighting with himself and the anxiety from the dream.  
  
Before Dean realises what he’s doing he’s pushed himself up and sat next to Jack on the bed, reaching out to drag the boy against his chest, leaning into his body and shushing him the way he used to do with Sam. He feels Jack freeze, not expecting the reaction and Dean suddenly lets him go, knowing he’s overstepped and probably freaked the kid out. The Winchesters are hardly known for being touchy feely, the hug Jack gave Dean when he got back to the bunker after Michael left his body has been the only real physical contact they’ve had, lately. He releases his hold on the boy and stands, “Uh, sorry, old habits, Sammy used to like…I’ll just go...” he says as he turns to leave, but he’s stopped by a firm grip on his wrist.  
  
“Wait!” Jack almost shouts, and the look on his face is shocked, like he didn’t expect the word to come out of his mouth. _That makes two of them_. He looks at his hold on Dean’s wrist, blinks then slowly opens his fingers, hand dropping back to his knees. His eyes flick between Dean’s and the bed, like he’s looking down in shame for what he’s done. His breath is starting to hitch and when he looks up again his blue eyes are swimming in unshed tears, pleading without words, either because he can’t speak or he’s afraid of being rejected.  
  
That damn near breaks Dean’s heart, “I could…” he licks his lips, suddenly nervous, “stay a while.” He makes it a statement rather than a question, that way the kid doesn’t have to commit to saying anything, and if there’s no response he can just leave. The sigh of relief Jack lets out causes his shoulders to sag as if half his tension left his body along with his breath. He swallows audibly, nods his head ever so slightly and offers half a smile. When he shifts from the middle to one side of the bed Dean takes the cue and climbs back on. He sits close but makes no move to reach out, maybe the kid just wants his presence and not touch. He feels like he should say something but has no idea what, maybe this was stupid after all.  
  
The sounds of both of their breathing is loud in the room and after what feels like forever Jack shifts slightly on the bed so his body is turned towards the older man’s, slides his butt down a little and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. Not long after that he shifts again, moving a little closer so they’re pressed together from shoulder to hip, turning himself in closer, still, and that’s when Dean hears Jack’s breaths are coming faster, and feels him shaking.  
  
“Hey,” he says, lifting his arm and resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder but not putting any pressure on it, “come here.” No sooner has he spoken the words, Jack has moved completely into his space, head resting on Dean’s chest, arm around his waist and burrowing in as close as he possibly can. When the older man hears the soft sniffles of Jack crying he shifts position so that he can pull the smaller frame closer, one arm around his back and the other threading his hand through sweaty hair, “Wanna tell me about it?” he asks, softly, unsurprised when the kid shakes his head. He says nothing more, just holds Jack close. They stay like that, Dean occasionally rubbing Jack’s arm or back to soothe him until he himself starts to relax a little, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headboard. He may have dozed off, he’s not sure, but it doesn’t feel like long before the movement of Jack’s body and the sound of his shaky breaths alert Dean to the fact that it’s from cold, not fear any more.  
  
“C-c-cold,” Jack says through chattering teeth, trying to tuck himself into Dean’s warmth even more. It’s unusual because the kid generally seems to run hot, often walking around the bunker in a simple t-shirt while Sam and Dean usually wear overshirts as well, then reality sinks in. Without his powers Jack’s body doesn’t have the same healing ability, so maybe that extends to things like regulating his body temperature, too.  
  
Dean sits up, tugging at the arm of Jack’s sweat soaked t-shirt, “Come on, get this off, let’s get you into something dry and warm,” he says. When he twists his body away he can’t help but notice the kid’s hard nipples through the fabric, wondering how the flesh would feel against his lips and tongue, whether they would soften in the heat of his mouth so he could then suck and bite so they’re hard from arousal and not cold. His cock twitches in his pyjama pants and it breaks the spell, almost jumping up and jostling the bed so much it creaks a little. Jack gives him a confused look but gets up and heads over to his dresser to pull out a fresh shirt. Dean busies himself pulling off the pillow case which is also soaked, as are parts of the sheet, _how long was the poor bastard trapped in his fear?_ , he wonders, pushing the thought down as quickly as he can because it will only serve to bring back memories of his own flashbacks as well the ones Sam’s told him about. He flicks his eyes up just in time to see the new t-shirt fall over the soft looking, creamy flesh of Jack’s lower back and tries not to think about how it would feel under his hands.  
  
“I’ll get fresh bedding,” Jack says quietly when he turns back, “and I’ll do the laundry in the morning.”  
  
“Screw the laundry,” Dean replies, harsher than he meant to because he’s annoyed with himself for not waking up sooner, for letting Jack suffer so long when he could have done something about it. The kid looks at him with wide eyes, obviously taken aback by his outburst, “sorry,” the hunter sighs, rubbing his temples, “I just mean it’s no big deal, Jack, don’t worry about it.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” the Nephilim says again, looking even smaller and more pitiful then he did moments before.  
  
“Will you _stop_ apologising for something that’s out of your control?” Dean says, managing to keep the irritation in his voice to a minimum. He watches the kid open his mouth then close it abruptly, clear that he was going to say sorry again. _Always so fucking polite_. Dean hasn’t realised it but he’s moved to stand in front of Jack and he’s holding the kid by his upper arms. As soon as that registers, the cold of Jack’s skin seeps into his own, “We need to get you warm,” he says, rubbing the flesh quickly to try and heat it with the friction and his own warmth. To his surprise Jack takes another step forward and presses his forehead to Dean’s chest, slender arms slipping around his waist. After a moment’s hesitation the older man wraps his arms back around the kid, feeling a little stupid standing in the middle of the room.  
  
Jack pulls back enough to look up at him, his eyes still a little glassy, “You should probably go back to bed, get some more sleep. I’ll go and do some more reading, I’m not tired anymore.”  
  
Dean lets out a snort, bringing one hand to Jack’s face to trace the dark circles under his eyes, “Yeah, right!” Jack’s eyes cast down, that kicked puppy look that always tugs at Dean’s heart strings. Before his brain has caught up with his mouth, the words are already out, “You could come and sleep with me if it would help.” _Fuck!_  
  
Jack’s head snaps up, a small look of confusion and disbelief on his face, searching Dean’s face like he’s trying to see a lie written on it before he shakes his head with a sad smile, “You don’t want that.”  
  
“Yes, I do,” slips out and it’s too late to take it back. As the kid’s face immediately changes into a surprised but pleased smile, he realises he doesn’t want to take it back, even though it’s probably the worst idea in the history of a long line of them.  
  
Ten minutes later Dean’s back in his own room with a glass of water for Jack in his hand. He steps through the door and his breath catches at the sight of Jack sitting on the bed, rolling up the sleeves of one of Dean’s flannel shirts so he’s not completely swamped in it, and heat curls in the hunter’s belly. He licks his lips, breath coming a little faster at the somehow arousing sight even though the kid is fully clothed.  
  
Jack blinks at him, “Is this OK?” he asks, stilling, “I’m still cold and it was just lying there.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean rasps before clearing his throat, “yeah, it’s fine.” He hands the glass over and turns away, walking around the other side of the bed without looking at Jack, berating himself once again at how risky this is for him, but he can’t exactly kick the kid out at this point. He hears the water going down in large, thirsty gulps and wishes he’d brought some for himself, his mouth suddenly dry. When he can’t put it off any longer he climbs into bed, making sure he’s not over the invisible halfway point on the mattress, shuffling to get comfortable on his back. He reaches out to shut the lamp off but Jack’s small voice stops him.  
  
“Can you leave it on, just for a little while?” there’s a slight blush spreading across his cheeks and Dean’s belly churns a little at the sight. It’s distressing, cute and _totally_ arousing all at the same time. He’s so fucking gone for this kid, he’s sure he’s going to hell...again.  
  
“Sure,” he says, dropping his arm to lay on his stomach.  
  
Jack lies down on his side facing Dean and the older man can tell even without looking that those big blue eyes are on him, but the kid says nothing so neither does he. Maybe a couple of minutes later Jack shifts trying to get comfortable Dean thinks, causing his slim leg to press lightly against his thicker, more muscled one. The kid’s freezing cold foot touching his bare ankle makes the hunter gasp and Jack draws away with a mumbled apology. Dean just lifts his arm and nods his head to the side in a sign to come closer. In a matter of seconds Jack’s arm is around his waist, head half on his collarbone and hot breath against the older man’s throat, legs pressed fully against Dean’s own, thankfully his cold feet tucked away from him.  
  
At first he feels a little shell shocked at the Nephilim’s reaction but then it hits him: the kid’s never had this, never known the comfort of someone’s arms when he’s scared, before. Over in Apocalypse World he’d had to take responsibility for dozens of people, the powerful half archangel who killed his own kind to save countless innocent lives. He’d grown up quickly out of necessity in both this world and that one, he lost his mother, Dean’s sure Mary will have done her best to comfort him but beyond that, what’s he had in the way of physical affection? A pat on the back, a squeeze of his shoulder, Dean himself threw out a ‘You did good, kid!’ but now he realises that’s the kind of praise Jack craves, that he _deserves_ , as well as comfort, a basic human need, even if Jack is only half human.  
  
“Is this OK?” Jack asks in an uncertain voice, his grip tightening a little even as he speaks.  
  
“Sure,” Dean replies, shifting so he’s turned towards the kid a little, he can do this, hold Jack and put his own desires to one side. He threads one hand into Jack’s hair, gently combing his fingers through it and rests the other on the Nephilim’s forearm where it’s looped around him, “this OK?” he asks, quietly after a while, thinking Jack’s fallen asleep.  
  
The movement of the kid nodding his head is subtle, but there. “Yes, I like it,” he confirms in that earnest way of his. After another long silence, he speaks again, his breath coming a little quicker, “They made me hurt you.”  
  
Dean’s confused for a moment but then the penny drops, “In your dream?”  
  
“No, over there. Michael and Zachariah, they…” he sighs, body tensing in Dean’s arms, “they got inside my head, tried to make me come around to their way of thinking and when I wouldn’t it was like they could control my thoughts. The things they made me think I was doing to my family were terrible,” he sniffs a little, “especially when it was hurting you.”  
  
“Angels are dicks,” Dean spits, pulling Jack closer, “it wasn’t real and you’re home, now,” he repeats his earlier words, trying to keep his voice level despite the anger he feels, “You’re not going to hurt me and I’m not going to let anything happen to you, neither is anyone else, you got that?”  
  
“It _felt_ so real, though. They made me put you on a rack and told me to carve you up, the way Sam…” he swallows hard before continuing, “the way Sam said they did in Hell.” Jack immediately gasps in shock, obviously realising too late that he shouldn't know anything about it, “Dean, I'm so sorry,” he says quickly pushing up on his elbow to look him in the eye, “I know you never told me, Sam tried explaining some of the things... some of the reasons you are the way you are. I just wanted to try and understand, I wanted to know you, I didn't mean to pry, Dean, _I swear_.”  
  
Dean’s whole body tenses and now it's his turn to feel a cold sweat of fear break out over his skin. His breath catches in his throat, images he's been pushing down for years bubbling under the surface, things appearing in his memories and his own nightmares flashing before his eyes. He takes some deep breaths, trying to remain calm. Jack’s not done anything wrong, it’s just that his filter is almost non-existent, “It's not your fault,” he says quietly, “ I didn't know…” he pauses, looking for the right words, not wanting Jack to know how much it all still affects him, as much as he pretends it doesn’t, “I didn't know you knew about that,” he says around a lump in his throat, “It was a long time ago.” He forces himself to relax and holds onto Jack a little tighter, probably nearly crushing the boy by now, “best not to think about it.”  
  
Jack looks up at him, worry clear in his wide eyes, deep creases in his smooth forehead, “Dean,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I would never hurt you like that,” the hand that was around his waist comes to rest on the older man's chest, the heat of it bleeding through cotton. Jack sighs, licks his soft looking lips and swallows as his fingers trace a back-and-forth pattern over Dean’s heart. “You mean too much to me, you all do, but you…” he bites his lower lip, looks down at his own hand and then back up and to the hunter’s eyes. When he opens his mouth to speak again, nothing comes out, instead he shakes his head and looks imploringly up at Dean as if he’s trying to project the words into the older man’s head instead of saying them out loud.  
  
Dean’s heart thumps in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through him partly out of fear and partly out of worry. He desperately wants to ease the anguish on that beautiful young face, “It’s alright, kid, I know.” Jack sighs again and he looks so sad it makes Dean’s chest ache, “Hey, what is it?” he asks, shifting to lie more on his side so they’re almost facing each other.  
  
The Nephilim shakes his head, a sad smile and something unfathomable on his face, “Nothing,” he replies, looking down at his hand on Dean’s chest again, “you should get some more sleep,” he stills his hand and goes to angle his body away, “I’m going to find something to read, goodnight, Dean.”  
  
“Hey,” the older man replies, frowning and laying his hand over Jack’s in an attempt to keep him there, “what’s going on, Jack?” Dean knows he’s not always the quickest on the uptake but something else is clearly bothering the boy, he just can’t work out what it is and an uneasy feeling is settling in his stomach, “Talk to me, kid.” he says, offering what he hopes is an encouraging smile.  
  
If it was possible Jack looks even more sad, his eyes watery, “I said it’s nothing, please, Dean, just leave it.”  
  
“Jack…” he replies, cut off when a small sob escapes the boy’s lips and a tear rolls down his face, “son of a bitch,” he whispers, his protective instincts kicking in, again. He pulls the slim body closer and cups the kid’s cheek, brushing away the tear, smoothing his thumb over soft skin. Another sob and the only thing he can think to do is lean in to press a kiss to Jack’s temple, “shh, it’ll be alright,” he coos, “I’m right here.”  
  
Jack leans into his touch and the hand on Dean’s chest clenches, the fabric of his t-shirt pulling as it’s screwed up in the kid’s fingers. He tilts his head to look up at Dean breaking their contact, eyes darting between the older man’s eyes and lips. If this was any other situation the older man would swear whoever was in his arms was going to kiss him, but it isn’t, and Jack _wouldn’t_ , he doesn’t share Dean’s attraction, he’s sure of that… right up until Jack leans in to press their lips together. It lasts only a few seconds before the kid pulls away, a look of uncertainty on his face. His breathing comes a little faster and he starts to look a little scared.  
  
Dean blinks in shock, “Why did you do that?” he asks after who knows how long.  
  
Jack licks his lips, all puppy eyes and determination as he squares his shoulders, “Because I wanted to.”  
  
“What for?” Dean replies when Jack says nothing else, not daring to let himself hope.  
  
Jack frowns and closes his eyes for a moment, his body tensing but he doesn’t pull away. When he opens his eyes there’s that old look he used to get around Dean in the early days, the one that combined an eagerness to please along with fear of saying or doing the wrong thing...like _exist_ , for starters. He swallows hard and licks his lips before taking a deep breath, “I don’t know much about,” he releases his grip on Dean’s shirt and waves a hand between them, “personal relationships and things, but I thought by now you’d have figured it out.”  
  
“Figured what out?” Dean asks, “Jack, I don't know what …” he cuts off when Jack rolls his eyes in a very Sam like way, “why are you looking at me like that?”  
  
The Nephilim sighs before he pushes himself up higher and leans back in to press their lips together again. This time it lasts longer, mostly because Dean is in shock again, coming back to himself at the touch of Jack’s fingers on his cheek. The boy pulls away enough to look him in the eye, the expression on his face somewhere between nervous and a very clear _duh_. He blinks a couple of times then offers a small - still nervous - smile. When the hunter just stares blankly his fingers move over Dean’s cheek, sliding down and going to pull away as he angles his body so they’re touching as little as possible, obviously wanting to get away.  
  
Through the pounding of his pulse in his ears Dean hears a murmured ‘sorry’ as Jack’s body heat shifts and suddenly he feels like he’s been punched in the gut and had a bucket of ice water poured over him at the same time. Jack kissed him. _Jack_ kissed _him_. His chest burns and he realises he’s been holding breath, he quickly lets it out a sharp huff of a laugh at his own cluelessness. He grips Jack tighter so he can’t go anywhere and licks his lips, pleased when the kid’s eyes are drawn to his mouth. Tightening his fingers in Jack’s hair he leans forward to press a kiss of his own to that soft, pink mouth, a flare of heat shooting through him when Jack’s body relaxes and he almost melts into the kiss. Dean makes sure to move his lips slowly, not wanting to scare the boy or push him into anything. Jack lets out a soft moan and the older man has to pull back, has to see his face. He’s met with dazed eyes, flushed cheeks and pink, spit slick lips, “God, look at you!” he rasps, sweeping his thumb over the kid’s bottom lip.  
  
“More?” Jack whispers, like asking any louder will earn him an automatic no, clutching the front of Dean’s t-shirt again and pulling hard as he rolls onto his back.  
  
“Jesus,” Dean says, feeling himself being pulled closer. He shifts so he’s lying on top of Jack with most of his weight supported on his left forearm, his right hand buried in the kid’s hair. They look at each other for what seems like an eternity before Jack tugs on the t-shirt again and rests his other hand on Dean’s hip, “this is so wrong,” the hunter mutters, even as they move towards each other.  
  
Jack either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care because as soon as their lips touch again he lets out another moan, releasing his grip on Dean’s shirt in favour of wrapping his fingers around his neck to hold him in place.  
  
This time Dean presses his mouth a little firmer against Jack’s, sliding across the plump flesh before gently sucking on the kid’s bottom lip, just enough to give him an idea of the feeling before he turns his head to a slightly different angle. He uses the very tip of his tongue to lick first at Jack’s top lip, then at the seam. Despite the boiling desire rolling through him, Dean’s gentle when he pushes his tongue inside, knowing this is all new to Jack. The older man goes for little kitten licks, a promise of more to come, and he can feel the slender body below him trembling slightly. Dean _knows_ he’s a good kisser, takes pride in it and when a whimpering sound falls from the Nephilim’s lips when they part he only ramps up his desire.  
  
Jack looks a little dazed, breathing heavily, “Why did you stop?” he rasps as he arches his body up against the hunter’s, gasping when his hard cock slides against Dean’s hip.  
  
The older man groans when he feels it, lust rolling through him in waves at the thought of Jack getting hard just from their kiss. He lifts his weight up and looks down their bodies, seeing the tent in Jack’s pyjama pants, “Fuck,” he rasps, before letting some of his weight settle back down and taking Jack’s mouth under his again, his own cock starting to fill. He gets lost in the feeling of the exploring tongue in his mouth, the breathy, needy sounds the kid’s making and the feel of his lithe form pressing against Dean’s bulk. When Jack hooks his leg around the back of Dean’s thigh to pull him closer and bucks his hips the older man pulls back, abruptly, the awareness of the fact he’s taking advantage of Jack’s need for touch slamming into him. For Jack’s sake he doesn’t scramble back like he wants to, but settles his body on the bed next to the Nephilim and puts a hand on his heaving chest, “That’s enough, Jack.”  
  
“What? Why?” he asks, confusion clear on his flushed face.  
  
“It’s my fault,” he says, stomach churning, “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry, Jack, that’s not the kind of comfort you need right now.” The look of disappointment on the kid’s face is like a punch to the gut.  
  
“But I liked it,” Jack replies, earnestly. He sits up and twists so he’s looking down at Dean, his eyes travelling from the older man’s to his own hands clasped in his lap, “did...did I do it wrong?”  
  
Dean’s stomach churns again and he pushes himself up into a sitting position, “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, resting a hand on Jack’s knee, licking his lips and trying to find the right words but coming up with nothing, “look, it’s late,” he sighs, “we should try to get some sleep.” He feels like shit for essentially brushing the kid off but right now isn’t the time to have the discussion on why this is all kinds of fucked up.  
  
“And if it wasn’t late?” Jack asks, no small amount of defiance on his face alongside the disappointment.  
  
“Jack,” Dean replies, pinching the bridge of his nose, “can you just trust me on this? We can talk tomorrow,” he says, kicking himself for committing to a timescale.  
  
“Will we?” Jack asks with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Do you need any more water?” Dean deflects, fully aware he’s ignoring the question but he really can’t do this now. He waits for Jack to shake his head then climbs back under the covers, lying on his back like he was earlier and closes his eyes. It seems to take forever before there’s any sound or movement but eventually the bed bounces and shakes as Jack lies down and gets comfortable. Despite himself Dean smiles, the kid’s a stubborn little shit, staying just to make a point.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Jack grumps.  
  
Dean laughs a little, “Nothing, go to sleep. Light on or off?” he asks, opening his eyes and looking over at Jack. He’s back where he was originally, on his side and curled into a ball next to, but not touching the hunter.  
  
“I don’t mind,” he replies, but there’s a small frown creasing his forehead.  
  
Dean wars with himself, partly wanting to send Jack to his own bed and remove any more temptation, and partly wanting to still provide the kid with the comfort he deserves. Eventually he shifts to get more comfortable, “We’ll leave it on in case you wake up and forget where you are,” he says, softly.  
  
A small smile crosses Jack’s face before he presses his lips together and nods against the pillow. After a couple of minutes the Nephilim uncurls his body and shifts closer, stretching out alongside Dean, idly tracing patterns on the pillowcase next to him, “Thank you.”  
  
Unsure what to say under the circumstances Dean just nods and closes his eyes. Some time later he feels the slight shift of Jack’s body as it inches closer to him until he can feel the kid’s body heat. When a slender arm wraps around his waist he says nothing, and neither does Jack when Dean lifts his own arm so he can wrap it around the Nephilim’s back. A minute later when the weight of the kid’s head settles on his chest, Dean presses a light kiss to the soft hair, breathing in the boy’s unique scent, and Jack lets out a contented sigh.

§

The following day Dean wakes to an empty bed and shuffles into the kitchen, once again following the scent of coffee. He’s met with two smiling faces looking over at him from the table, “Mornin’,” he says with a hint of confusion, looking between Sam and Jack, “what’s going on?”  
  
“Jack was telling me he slept well last night, that’s all.” his brother shrugs.  
  
Dean’s heart rate picks up, wondering what Jack’s told him, “Oh?” he replies in between taking deep gulps of coffee and trying to stay calm.  
  
“Uh huh,” Jack mumbles around a spoon loaded with as much sugary cereal as he can fit into his mouth, “I feel great, today,” he adds after he swallows, smiling brightly between the two of them.  
  
"That’s great, kid,” Dean replies, a smile of it’s own crossing his face at the sight of Jack’s happy face. He sits down next to the Nephilim, making sure it’s at their usual distance apart, not knowing what’s going to happen from here, if anything.  
  
“Who wants bacon and pancakes?” Sam asks the room at large, pushing away from the table and heading over to the fridge without waiting for an answer from either of them.  
  
“Huh, sugar _and_ cholesterol without any prompting,” Dean says raising an eyebrow at his brother's back before looking over at Jack, “he must have been really worried about you,” he strokes his thumb up and down his coffee cup a few times and smiles softly, “we both were.”  
  
Jack’s smile falters slightly, “I know, but I think we’ve found a way to help me. If you…as long as …” he turns to look over at Sam who still has his back to them, then back at Dean, looking nervous, now. He takes a deep breath, “You really helped me last night, I’m … I think I’m still going to have some nightmares, though, I mean they don’t just go away,” he says in a rush, like he needs to get all the words out at once, “I read that it can take weeks or even months and I know last night was just one night…”  
  
“Jack,” Dean says, firm enough to cut the kid off but not harsh enough to sound like he’s telling him off. He shifts a couple of inches closer, “I’ll be here, for as long as you need.”  
  
Jack nods, a relieved look spreading over his face, “I understand,” he says with another nod, “for as long as I _need_.” he finished, turning back to his cereal.  
  
It’s early and Dean’s still on his first cup of coffee so it takes a minute to work out what the matter is, “Hey,” he says, stomach clenching a little. When Jack doesn’t look back he slides his hand around the back of the kid’s neck and pulls slightly until he turns and blue eyes meet his, “for as long as you _want_.”  
  
“Really?” he replies, eyes bright and hopeful.  
  
It makes Dean’s chest fill with warmth at his happy face and the underlying implication of what he’s just offered, “Yeah,” he nods, “really.”  
  
Jack flicks his eyes to Dean’s mouth quickly before he looks directly at him, “Can we do more of…” he trails off, biting his lower lip and drops his hand to rest on the older man’s thigh, “you know?”  
  
A low buzz of arousal makes Dean’s skin tingle where Jack’s hand rests, “Are you sure that’s what you want, Jack, I mean _really_ what you want? With me?” his heart thumps in his chest as he waits for an answer.  
  
The kid looks over his shoulder to check Sam’s still occupied and leans forward to press a tender kiss to Dean’s lips before pulling away with a shy smile and a nod, “I’m sure.”  
  
Dean takes a minute for the reality of that sink in. The months he’s spent wanting _more_ with Jack, sure they could have something great, as long as they’re careful about it at first, of course. He thinks about how right it felt to hold the boy in his arms, how hot it was just to kiss him, let alone anything more to come. He takes another deep swallow of his coffee and brushes his hand over the back of Jack’s neck where it rests, “Alright, then,” he says, “I’ll leave the light on.”

~ FIN ~


End file.
